I took another pull from my flask, but the day was annoyingly brilliant. Ocean salt laced the air, and mountains draped in forest cradled this city by the sea, forcing me to acknowledge its beauty. Mags and Reg were stuffy and sort of ridiculous, but they were also trying their best to take care of me. And Beatriz and her goddamn mothering… What the hell was that about? I’d fallen through the looking glass from a cold, loveless wasteland into a world of sack lunches and parental figures wishing me a good day.
It won’t last. Give it a month before they try to get rid of you.
The driver my parents had hired for the year lounged against the side of a sleek black Cadillac in a black suit and white shirt, smoking a cigarette.
“Morning, James. Got a light?”
“Good morning, Mr. Parish. Of course.”
James Costa was pushing fifty with salt-and-pepper hair and a tough mobster look about him. We’d been getting weird looks all summer as he shuttled me around to explore the city and its tourist-packed boardwalk. I imagined how the two of us would look, rolling up to Santa Cruz Central High School in this black sedan.
I lit a Djarum off his lighter and inhaled. “They’re going to think we’re Mafia, James. I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.”
“If I may say, sir, I wasn’t under the impression you gave a fuck about what anyone thinks.”
“Too true, my good man.”
When we finished our cigarettes, I ground mine out under my boot, and James opened the back door for me.
“Welp. High school awaits. Can you see it, James? Me? In high school, like a normal guy?”
“Not especially, sir. No offense.”
“None taken,” I said, climbing in. “I’m rather curious about it myself.”
***
It only took until first break to know that I’d never fit in at Santa Cruz Central High.
Prior to Alaska and the stint at the sanitarium, I’d only attended—and been kicked out of—stuffy prep schools. Regular high school was all so hopelessly, depressingly normal. A good percentage of the kids were probably going through some heavy shit, but I had nothing in common with any of them. I stuck out like an elegantly dressed sore thumb.
Rolling up in a chauffeured black Cadillac had begun the rumor mill churning. By the time morning classes were over, whispers followed me down the halls. Girls gawked at me with thinly veiled interest. Others stared at my wardrobe choices. The wordvampirewas tossed around more than once.
But I made it through most of the day without seeing a single person of the masculine persuasion who seemed even remotely interesting.
Until lunch.
The bell rang, and I followed the crowd to the cafeteria. Some students opted to sit inside. Others sat in groups on the grass or at outdoor tables. I debated my options while inspecting the sack lunch Beatriz had prepared for me: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, corn chips, sliced apple, and a small carton of milk.
Is she trying to kill me?
No way in hell could I eat that in public without crying in my Fritos. I tucked the lunch back into my sleek leather backpack and leaned against a cement pole to survey my fellow students.
Besides, vampires don’t eat. We drink.
I took a sip from my flask and slipped it back into my pocket just as two girls approached. One was all Latina hotness with lustrous black hair flowing out of a high, tight ponytail. Her dark eyes drank me brazenly. The other girl was a raven-haired beauty with dark blue eyes and porcelain skin. She lacked the innate boldness of the first girl, but her eye contact was on point.
I reached for my packet of clove cigarettes as the first girl’s gaze raked me up and down with a predatory gleam. Her heteronormative assumptions that I was (A) straight and (B) automatically attracted to her were amusing.
“You’re Holden, right?” she asked. “I’m Evelyn. This is Violet. We thought we’d come over and say hi, since you’re new and all.”
“Am I? It’s only noon, and it feels like I’ve been here for ages,” I said and lit a cigarette with my gold Zippo.
“This is California, not Paris,” Evelyn said, impressed with myblatant disregard for universally acknowledged health statutes. “There’s no smoking allowed at school.”
“I’m sure there isn’t,” I said and took another drag.
She pressed on with a flirty smile. “There’s a spot under the bleachers on the north end of the football field. Good place to smoke or doother thingsyou don’t want anyone to see. Care for a tour?”
